


Final Distance

by spare



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Banana Fish Angst Week, Drabble, Epistolary, M/M, Post-Canon, ending spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spare/pseuds/spare
Summary: Alternate Title:A Perfect Day for Banana Fish.My entry for Day 7 of #BFAngstWeek. The prompt is for 1/12: Forever/Remember.A postscript set sixty years into the future. Seventy-nine-year-old Eiji Okumura visits the New York Public Library for the last time, and writes a letter to his first love.





	Final Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Implied Character Death
> 
> This short fic is set sixty years after the events of Banana Fish. Like with the episode 24 ending in the anime, feel free to make of the ending as you will.

“And here we are, Mr. Okumura.” Lindy, amiable automated chauffeur to the rich and famous, remotely opens the rear door of the luxury car for its sole occupant. “I hope you enjoy your visit to the _New York Public Library_ ,” the A.I. enjoins. “Once you're ready to leave, just give me a call, okay?”

“I will; thank you, Lindy.” So saying, seventy-nine-year-old Eiji Okumura alights from the vehicle and trudges up the bone white steps of one of the most renowned libraries in America.

Cold as it is, his joints have decided to be merciful today; he reaches the grand foyer with scarcely any fuss. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself—he isn't quite sure for what—and sets foot inside the New York Public Library for the first time in more than half a century.

Everything's different, yet everything's the same: marble and oak panels co-existing with LEDs and holographic displays, cozy lighting and fiber-glass, and stately but comfy-looking tables and chairs; and, of course, shelves upon shelves of books, books, books.

_Well, I've done it, Aslan,_ Eiji thinks, looking round the well-lit, high-ceilinged chamber. _I've come back._

It's like he's come home after so very many years away.

(And has he not?)

Eiji had thought he'd have more trouble finding that seat ( _his_ seat), but he does not. It's still there, still—amazingly—at the same table, still in use in such a public space. Or maybe he's mistaken—there's no way public furniture could go five decades without needing to be replaced—but he goes there regardless, and takes a seat—

( _his_ seat)

—and sets down a couple of sheets of hotel stationery on the table. Pen in hand, he begins to commit his thoughts to paper.

> Dear Ash,
> 
> It's been what, sixty years since we first met? I wonder what you'd think if you saw me now. My face is a roadmap of wrinkles, and my hair—what little there's left, haha—has gone salt and pepper gray. I've become a certified 'old geezer'.
> 
> And yet my heart hasn't changed at all, even after all this time.
> 
> And I would like to believe that, just as my soul has remained with you through the years, so has your spirit remained by my side.
> 
> I've lived a good, long life, all things considered; more than enough for the both of us. I've been to countless other places, both as honored guest and simple traveler; seen the sun rise over several different horizons. And yet, NYC has remained the place I remember the most; the dawn I'd seen with you, the most radiant. The year I got to know you remains the most pivotal, the most treasured time in my life: from pole-vaulting to picture-taking, from Japan to America and back again.
> 
> Here in New York I was thrown into a world I didn't know existed, and while it may have been ugly and absolutely heartbreaking at times, I was saved from despair by your kindness, by the strength you showed me, by the love and friendship you and I shared. You were bright and brilliant and beautiful as your namesake, Aslan, and the world since your passing, a little more dim. Better, perhaps—no small thanks to you—but sadder all the same.
> 
> Hey... would you believe this is my first visit back to the New York Public Library since that time? For years upon years, I couldn't bring myself to return to this place.
> 
> Until now.
> 
> Today, I'm set to say 'Sayonara' again to America and New York. But just as before, I won't say 'Sayonara' to you, Ash. Rather, I'll be saying 'Mata sugu ni ne;' 'See you soon.' And if God is kind, maybe it really will be for good.
> 
> \- Eiji

Having signed the letter, Eiji puts the pen away. A single tear falls from his cheek, staining the paper. He doesn't appear to notice it; he closes his eyes instead and, much like a certain young man who'd sat at the opposite chair some sixty years before him, slumps forward, seemingly falling asleep on the table. The smile that graces Eiji's lips is soft and peaceful.

~ The End ~


End file.
